The Chestnut Man

by Søren Sveistrup

  ‘By lie you mean his explanation of when he’d visited that spot in the woods?’

  ‘Absolutely. As I understand, he said he was drawn to crime scenes – like with the pictures in the archive – and when he heard the news about Kristine Hartung’s disappearance he drove out into the woods. You’d have to ask Tim Jansen or one of the others, but I believe he claimed he’d been standing behind the police cordon along with the other curious onlookers and felt sexually excited by being at the scene.’

  ‘I’ll get back to that. But the fact is that the man still maintained he hadn’t killed Kristine Hartung. He had more general difficulties accounting for his behaviour, and he acknowledged he had blackouts – part of his diagnosis as a paranoid schizophrenic – but he continued to deny the murder, even after you found the weapon with Kristine Hartung’s blood on it. The machete, I mean, which was discovered on a shelf in the garage, next to his car.’

  Hess finds a spot in the case file.

  ‘It wasn’t until he was interrogated by Jansen and Ricks and confronted with images of the weapon that he finally confessed. Is that roughly accurate?’

  ‘I’m not aware of what happened during the interrogations, but the rest seems correct.’

  ‘Fine. Can we go now?’ Thulin is looking sharply at Hess. ‘I can’t see the point of all this. Isn’t it all totally fucking irrelevant? The man was clearly sick in the head, so it makes no sense wasting time on him while another killer is getting away.’

  ‘It’s not that I think Linus Bekker seems healthy. The problem is simply that I believe he was telling the truth right up until the day he suddenly confessed.’

  ‘Oh, come on.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Genz’s curiosity has been piqued, and Hess taps the case file.

  ‘Twice in the year prior to the Hartung case, Linus Bekker was picked up for indecent behaviour. The first time in a rear courtyard at a student residence in Odense, where a young woman had been raped and murdered by her boyfriend a few years before. The second time on Amager Common, where ten years earlier a woman had been killed by a taxi driver and dumped in the bushes. In both cases, Bekker was seen masturbating at the old crime scenes, and he was subsequently arrested and given a minor sentence.’

  ‘That tells you all you need to know?’

  ‘No. That simply tells us it’s possible Linus Bekker decided to visit the site of Kristine Hartung’s disappearance in the woods as soon as he heard about it on the news. It might be incomprehensible to other people, but for a man with his inclinations it would make sense.’

  ‘Yeah, but surely the point is that he didn’t say so straight off the bat. An innocent person would have. But funnily enough it wasn’t until we analysed the sneakers that he offered up that explanation.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s so strange. Maybe he was hoping initially that you wouldn’t find the traces of soil. It had been three weeks, after all, and without knowing Linus Bekker personally I can imagine he gambled on not having to say anything about his urge to visit crime scenes. But then he was confronted with the soil analysis, so he had to tell the truth.’

  Thulin gets to her feet. ‘We’re going in circles. I don’t see why we’re suddenly assuming the desperate excuses of a convicted psychopath were the truth, so I’m going back to the ministry now.’

  ‘Because Linus Bekker was in the woods. At exactly the time he said.’

  Hess draws a plastic wallet from his inside pocket and takes out a stack of crumpled prints. Before he slides them across to Thulin, she notices it’s the wallet she’d glimpsed in Hess’s hand at Odin that morning, when he appeared after his run.

  ‘The Royal Library keeps articles and photographs in their digital archive, and among the photos taken at the site that evening in the woods I found this one. The top print shows the picture as part of an article in a morning newspaper the day after the girl went missing. The others are close-ups.’

  Thulin eyes the little collection of prints. The top one is a photo she’s seen before. It’s almost iconic, because it’s a 1:1 reproduction of one of the first photos she remembers from the press coverage of the case. The image shows a section of the woods, floodlit, teeming with officers and canine units – presumably coordinating the search. They look grim, giving the viewer a sense of the situation’s import. Far in the background, journalists, photographers and other curious onlookers are gathered behind a police cordon, and Thulin is about to protest once more that they are wasting time. Then, in the next print, she sees him. The image is grainy and pixelated. It’s a close-up of a section of faces, and Thulin realizes instantly that it must be from the crowd behind the cordon. At the very back, almost hidden behind the shoulders of the others, in the third or fourth row, she makes out Linus Bekker’s face. The enlargement has made his eyes look like black, blurry holes, but the shape of his features and the sparse light hair leave no doubt.

  ‘The question, of course, is how he could be standing there when he later claimed to be driving north with Kristine Hartung’s corpse at that very moment, looking for a place to bury her.’

  ‘Bloody hell …’

  Genz has taken the sheaf of prints from Thulin, who still doesn’t know what to say.

  ‘Why didn’t you say something before? Why didn’t you say something to Nylander?’

  ‘I had to double-check the time it was taken with the photographer who took it. Make sure it was definitely taken that evening, and I only got confirmation in the car on the way over here. As for Nylander, I thought it was best if the two of us discussed it first.’

  ‘But this still doesn’t exonerate Bekker. In theory he could have killed Kristine Hartung, hidden the body in the car then driven back to the woods to watch the police’s activities before heading north.’

  ‘Yes. We’ve seen that kind of behaviour before. But as I said, it’s also striking that the machete was completely devoid of bone dust, if he really did dismember her. So the mystery begins to –’

  ‘But why would Linus Bekker confess to something he didn’t do? It makes no sense.’

  ‘Could be any number of reasons. But I think we should ask him ourselves. Frankly, it’s my view that the killer in the Kristine Hartung case is the same one we’re after right now. And with any luck, Linus Bekker can help.’

  83

  It’s approximately a hundred kilometres to the town of Slagelse, and the GPS calculates the journey time as nearly an hour and fifteen minutes. But when Thulin turns off towards the old fairground near Grønningen, where the psychiatric hospital and the secure ward are located, barely an hour has passed.

  It was nice to escape the city limits and watch the fields and forests of the autumn landscape flit by in shades of red, yellow and brown. Soon the colours would vanish and the part of autumn that was only grey would set in. Thulin tried to enjoy the view, although her mind was still stuck in the lab at Forensics.

  Hess expanded on his theory as they turned it over with Genz. If Linus Bekker was innocent of any crime against Kristine Hartung, then somebody else had deliberately tried to throw suspicion on him. In many ways he was an ideal scapegoat, with a rap sheet and psychological constitution bound to attract the attention of the police as soon as he entered the spotlight. But the killer – and here Hess didn’t mean Linus Bekker – must therefore have planned all this long ago, probably with the specific purpose of making it look like Kristine Hartung was dead and buried. The anonymous tip about Linus Bekker that had led to the case being wrapped up now seemed suspicious.

  First Hess questioned Genz about the investigation into the phone call that had led the police to Bekker. Genz rushed straight to the keyboard to check the details in the tech report. The anonymous tip had been phoned in to a landline early one Monday morning, but unfortunately not to 112, the emergency line, which recorded all calls automatically. The odd thing was that the call had come via a direct line to Nylander’s administrative offices. In itself this wasn’t necessarily suspicious; afte
r all, Nylander had been splashed all over the media at the time, so it might make sense for someone following the case to send their tip to him. The call had apparently originated from a mobile phone with an unregistered prepaid card, so it had been impossible to trace the informant. There the trail went cold. According to the report, the secretary who’d taken the call had been unable to give any account beyond that a ‘Danish-speaking man’ had briefly stated they ought to check out Linus Bekker and search his residence in connection with the Hartung case. Linus Bekker’s name was repeated, and then the line went dead.

  Hess then asked Genz to run through the forensic evidence again as soon as possible. The moment the investigation had zeroed in on Bekker, other apparently irrelevant leads may well have been dumped – and those were the leads that interested Hess now. It would take time, but Genz was willing to give it a shot. He did, however, ask what he was supposed to say if anybody noticed him poking around in the Hartung reports on physical and trace evidence.

  ‘Say I asked you to do it, so you don’t get into trouble yourself.’

  For a moment Thulin wondered what she was supposed to say. There was no doubt in her mind that the present development fell under the general umbrella of things Nylander wouldn’t like, and if they were caught then it might affect her chances of getting into NC3. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to call Nylander. Instead she phoned one of the detectives reading through the files at the minister’s office, looking for potential enemies of Rosa Hartung. Nothing new on that score, apart from the fact that most of the cases involved strong emotions and antipathy towards the authorities. So when Hess suggested they try and arrange a conversation with Linus Bekker, she assented. He then phoned the secure ward where Bekker was being held. The consultant psychiatrist was in a meeting, but Hess gave the gist of the matter to his second-in-command, explaining that they were on their way down and expected to arrive within the hour.

  ‘You okay to come along? You don’t need to, if you feel it’s going to compromise you.’

  ‘It’s all right.’

  Thulin still had a hard time believing the visit would prove useful. It seemed most likely that Linus Bekker had been telling the truth when he confessed to the crime. He could still have shown up behind the police cordon in the woods. From what she knew of Tim Jansen, and also of Martin Ricks, they certainly weren’t afraid to get a little rough – or worse – if a suspect needed encouragement confessing, but no matter how much they’d leant on Linus Bekker he’d had many chances later to withdraw his confession. So why should it be false? Despite his purported blackouts, Bekker had remembered enough that the whole series of events had been pieced together. He’d agreed to a reconstruction in which his actions had been mapped out, from the afternoon when he’d been meandering around in his car and caught sight of a girl with a sports bag until later that same night, when he’d found himself with a corpse in the woods up north. He’d described the sexual assault and strangulation, described driving around with the body and not knowing what to do. In his statement in court, he’d even apologized to the girl’s parents.

  It had to be true; anything else was unrealistic. This is Thulin’s last thought before she pulls up outside the gates of the secure facility.

  84

  The recently constructed secure unit, which is situated in its own square-shaped plot near the psychiatric hospital, is bordered on all four sides by two walls six metres high, with a deep trench between them. The only point of access is from the south, where the system of gates abuts the carpark, and Hess and Thulin stand in front of the dome camera and speaker beside the heavy gate.

  Unlike Hess, Thulin has never been to a secure ward before, but obviously she’s heard of this place. The facility is the country’s largest forensic psychiatric institution, home to the most dangerous criminals. Its thirty-odd inmates have been convicted by special decree, a measure the courts can use in the rare cases where there is reason to suppose that the individual is a persistent danger to others. Because this danger is judged to be the result of mental illness, the individual is taken to the secure psychiatric unit – a hybrid psychiatric ward and maximum-security prison – and contained there for the duration of their indeterminate sentence. The inmates, referred to as patients, include murderers, paedophiles, serial rapists and arsonists, and some of them, the intractably ill, will never be considered for reintegration into society.

  The electronic gate opens, and Thulin follows Hess into a kind of empty garage, where a guard sits waiting for them behind bulletproof glass. Behind him they can see another guard in front of a bank of surveillance monitors. Of which there are many. As requested, Thulin hands over her phone, belt and shoelaces. In her case and Hess’s, they are also required to hand over their guns; but it’s the phone that hurts the most, because Thulin is now deprived of the opportunity to contact her colleagues at the ministry, which she hadn’t foreseen. A body scanner exempts her from any extra searches, then she and Hess wait in the garage for another gate to open. They pass through, deeper into the system of gates, and only once one has shut completely is the next one unlocked. A solid metal door is opened electronically at the end of the room by a heavy-set male nurse with a name badge that reads ‘Hansen’.

  ‘Welcome. Follow me, please.’

  With its bright corridors and pleasant view over the courtyard, the ward looks at first glance like a modern training centre. Only until you realize most of the furniture is bolted to the floor or the walls, of course. The sound of rattling keys is ever-present, and the interlocking system of gates continues, just as in an ordinary prison, as they move deeper into the facility, glimpsing a few patients on sofas and at table-tennis tables along the way. Unshaven men, some of them clearly medicated, most shuffling around in slip-on sandals. The patients Thulin sees wear grieved expressions. They remind her most of all of residents at a nursing-home, but Thulin recognizes a few of them from press photographs, and although their faces look old and dull she knows they have human lives on their consciences.

  ‘This is most disruptive. I don’t know why I wasn’t brought into the loop before.’

  Consultant Psychiatrist Weiland is none too pleased to see them. Although Hess had explained their visit to his second-in-command, he now has to start from the beginning.

  ‘I’m very sorry, but we do need to speak to him.’

  ‘Linus Bekker is making progress. He cannot be confronted with news about death and violence – it’s precisely the kind of thing that could set him back. Linus Bekker is one of our patients who is forbidden access to all forms of media apart from a one-hour nature programme per day.’

  ‘We only want to ask him about things he’s talked about before. It’s crucial we speak with him. If you won’t allow us access, I’ll have to get a warrant, but any delay could cost lives.’

  Thulin can tell the consultant was unprepared for this answer. For a second he hesitates, evidently not fond of backing down.

  ‘Wait here. If he says yes, then it’s fine, but I’m not forcing him to do anything.’

  Moments later the consultant returns. He gives Hansen a nod and tells them Linus Bekker has agreed, before he disappears. Hansen glances after him, then begins telling them about the security measures.

  ‘No physical contact whatsoever. If it looks like Bekker is getting even remotely agitated, you need to pull the emergency cord in the visitors’ room. We’ll be right outside the door if a situation arises, but ideally it shouldn’t. Clear?’

  85

  The visitors’ room measures roughly five metres by three. The thick, reinforced windows render bars unnecessary, offering an unobstructed view over the green courtyard and the six-metre-high wall beyond. Four hard plastic chairs are meticulously arranged around a small angular table, bolted to the floor. Linus Bekker is already sitting in one when Hess and Thulin are ushered in.

  He is surprisingly short, perhaps five foot five. A young man with virtually no hair. A childlike face, but powerfully built. A litt
le like a gymnast, which is what he resembles in his grey sweatpants and white T-shirt.

  ‘May I sit by the window? I like sitting by the window best.’

  Bekker has risen, and is standing staring at them like a nervous schoolboy.

  ‘Absolutely fine. Your decision.’

  Hess introduces himself and Thulin, and she notices he takes pains to come across as friendly and trusting. He ends the introductions by thanking Bekker for his time.

  ‘Time is one thing I’m not short of here.’

  Bekker speaks without irony or a smile. It’s a simple statement, and his eyes blink at them uneasily. As Thulin sits down on one of the bolted-down chairs opposite the young man, Hess begins to explain that they have come because they need his help.

  ‘But I don’t know where the body is. I’m terribly sorry, but I really can’t remember anything beyond what I’ve already told you.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that. It’s about something else.’

  ‘Were you two on the case? I don’t remember you.’

  Bekker seems a little frightened. Guileless, blinking eyes. Sitting straight-backed in his chair, picking apprehensively at his nailbeds, which are frayed and red.

  ‘No, we weren’t on the case.’

  Hess launches into the lie they’ve settled on. He flashes his Europol badge and explains that he is a profiler based at the Hague. By mapping out the personalities and behaviours of individuals like Linus Bekker, profilers can help solve similar crimes. Hess has come to Denmark to help his Danish colleagues, including Thulin, set up an equivalent department. They are conducting conversations with selected inmates to learn about their reaction patterns in the lead-up to their crimes, and are hoping Bekker will take part.

  ‘But nobody told me you were coming.’

  ‘No, there’s been a mistake. You should have been informed much earlier so that you could prepare, but I’m afraid there was a misunderstanding. It’s completely up to you whether you want to help. If you prefer, we can go.’